


Kiss

by PoisonKisses



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 02:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7415380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PoisonKisses/pseuds/PoisonKisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He makes it look easy, because he has to. He can't afford to lose himself, or give in.</p><p>That doesn't mean he's unaffected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss

The water was cold. 

That was a good thing, he needed cold water right now. He stood in the Batcave shower, fists pressed against the old tile, head down to allow the icy water time to soak his hair and run down his scarred, muscular back. To most, the temperature would have been intolerable, but one thing Bruce Wayne had always been good at was compartmentalization. He'd once run several miles on a broken leg, swung building to building on a dislocated shoulder. Resisting pain and powering through discomfort were things that just went with the job of Batman. He accepted those things. He'd gone out of his way to teach his various protégés over the years the same thing, and he felt like for the most part he had succeeded.

But this? This was hard. It was hard, and it was getting harder, each time. For just a moment, he allowed himself a juvenile half smile at the phrasing of that thought.

She didn't know. She couldn't know. If she'd had any idea over the years how close she'd pushed him to the edge, how near a thing her attempts at seduction had been, just how close she'd come tonight, for instance, the next time she would go all the way, and he would be lost.

God. He wanted to be lost. 

He'd never wanted anything in his life so badly. He took a deep, stuttering breath--ragged with his need--and hoped that the cold water would soon do its job. He realized he was trembling. At the time, he'd maintained a perfect poker face, staying as stiff--another half smile-- and unyielding as one of Gotham's infamous building gargoyles. That's how he thought of himself, at times-- made of stone. He was as much a part of the city as the smog, crime, and strangely Gothic architecture. He should be above being affected by a beautiful woman––even one as beautiful as her.

When he'd encountered her, he'd already sent Robin home for the night, cognizant of the fact that tomorrow was a school day. He hadn't expected to run into any of his more infamous 'rogues' and certainly not her. To his knowledge, she'd been keeping a low profile, staying out of trouble. He'd heard she'd actually returned to research, and was maintaining a civilian identity. In recent years, she had actually gone way down on his list of priorities. While she was no angel, compared to some of the others, like Joker or Zsasz, she just didn't merit a great deal of urgency.

He grumbled, leaving his fists firmly against the tile, afraid to soap himself down because he was afraid to touch his own skin. It was too soon, the memory too fresh. He was afraid of how his body might react.

The details really weren't important. She'd been liberating some plant from a Lexcorp lab-- committing a now rare-for-her crime. He hadn't been prepared for her, hadn't taken any antidotes to her toxins, hadn't mentally prepped himself for seeing her again or hearing her voice. He lightly punched the tile wall, questioning his own judgment. He'd let her get too close––a rookie mistake.

Never, under any circumstances, let Poison Ivy get close.

He'd realized that mistake when her hand was snaking around the back of his neck, pulling him down. She wasn't a particularly tall woman, even in the ridiculous heels she'd currently been in, so she'd had to crane her face up to meet his. He could've fought. He could've resisted her, pushed her back, stopped it before it even began, but deep down, there was a part of him that wanted it. How many times over the years had he let her kiss him? He'd lost track.

Kissing her was an intense experience--an assault on the senses. Even a quick peck on the cheek would leave him breathless, pulse racing, weakness settling over muscles that could do 40 minute iron crosses without so much as a shiver. He'd learned letting her get close was a mistake because she overwhelmed him. To Bruce, she always smelled like fresh roses--the roses grown on the Wayne Manor grounds, the ones his mother had cultivated. That scent always made him feel comfortable, at peace, even happy--feelings that were subversive to the rage he needed to do what he did as Batman. The rage needed to resist her--and that was probably the point.

She was beautiful of course, but it went beyond that. Just seeing her flawless skin and gorgeous fiery red curls made his hands itch to touch her, to explore her. Maybe it was the pheromones, he'd never been sure about that, but something about her made him want to hold her, protect her, even though he knew of all the people in Gotham, she was probably the one who least needed his protection. When she'd first appeared to him this evening, he'd drunk her appearance up like a man in the desert finding an oasis. Her voice was always like warm honey, sweet and thick with promise. She's spoken with him, reasoned with him. She could be very rational--a far cry from the others. There were times her goals sounded so reasonable he could almost have signed onto her crusade. In fact, there were times she'd helped him. That lulled him. He could've looked away. He could've refused to hear her words. But he hadn't. And then she kissed him.

God, she kissed him.

Her lips were searing. They tasted sweet, like nectar, and they were soft––so very soft. She was an amazing kisser, far better than anyone he'd ever kissed--even Selina, who was no slouch in that department. She'd molded herself to him, all sensuous, feminine curves to the hard planes of his masculinity, and slipped her pink tongue into his mouth, almost daring him to respond. He had tried to compartmentalize, to push the desires and needs that she evoked into a neat little box that he could bury deep within himself, and for the most part he had succeeded, but for just a moment, for the space of only a few heartbeats he'd lost himself in the taste of her lips, and the feeling of her beautiful body pressed against him, and the scent of her silky hair wound in his fingers. For just a moment, he wasn't Batman – – he was just a man, and she was a woman. It went all the way to the primal center of his lizard brain, an instinct so old that it stretched back to the dawn of time. That was the True Insidious Way Poison Ivy's charms worked. That was the secret. Poison Ivy's seduction wasn't about making you do something you didn't want to do.

You desperately wanted what she offered.

He'd wanted her, he'd wanted to love her and be loved in return, he'd so desperately wanted to keep kissing her and making her happy that he almost gave in. Almost. And standing there in the shower, Bruce was not convinced he made the right choice.

He'd sunk to the ground, his motor nerves paralyzed from whatever she'd laced her kiss with, and she'd gently laid him down. She'd straddled him, and even though he couldn't move, her weight was pleasant resting on his hips, filling his thoughts with things he knew he would always need to keep private. There was no gloating or triumph on her face. She looked almost regretful.

"I'm sorry, Batman." She leaned over him to give him a quick kiss on the cheek, and for just a moment the silky curtain of her hair cut off the entire rest of the world, and it was just the two of them. A part of him, a small, deeply buried part that rarely saw the light of day, had wished it could just be the two of them, forever.

She'd looked back as she was leaving, and said simply, "Maybe someday..." Then she was gone..

To her eyes, Bruce assumed she'd seen the normally stoic, unmoved, merciless Batman the entire time. She had no idea what effect she really had on him. Again, she could never know. No one could. They all needed to believe that Batman could not be stopped. He was invincible. He could not be bribed, seduced, or killed. If he ever allowed any of those things to happen, Batman would truly die. So he would always come here, to the tired old Batcave shower, where he could be alone and open those little compartmentalized boxes in private. When he encountered Ivy, he needed to forget, he needed that cold water. He needed to be shocked out of the memories of her kiss. Even now, when he thought about it, his whole body trembled, and not from the chill.

"Please," he said quietly, in a tone no one--not Robin, not Alfred, not Clark-- no one had ever heard the Batman use. "Please forget..." In his mind's eye, her sparkling eyes, her full, sensuous lips, her purring laugh danced before him, and desperately he raised his face to the punishing spray, hoping for respite.

The water was cold, but it wasn't cold enough

**Author's Note:**

> Written for #InternationalKissingDay
> 
> Who is the best kisser in comics? I know who I vote for...


End file.
